


The Escapist

by theprincegroom



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bookstore owner! Harry, F/M, Letters, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Alternating, Secret Identity, he's trying his best, letter writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24034711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincegroom/pseuds/theprincegroom
Summary: Harry has finally found peace after the war, but is struggling to meet people he doesn't already know and trust. Hermione pushes him to try his hand at letter writing. Connection may come from where you least expect it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 8





	The Escapist

Harry sighed as he put down the pen. "Dear sir," was written at the top of the page with naught much after, but as hard as he tried he couldn't seem to find anything to say. The introductory pamphlet he’d been sent had been vague as to what this service entailed, but Harry had no choice. He’d promised Hermione that he’d at least try to talk to someone new and seeing as the bars weren’t working – too many loud noises and people packed too close to talk to anyone – and he hardly encountered anyone at work, this was his last chance. He just had no idea what one was even supposed to write in an introductory letter to a stranger.

_~~Dear sir,~~ _

_~~My name is Harry Potter. I am 27 years old and I saved the wizarding world. I peaked as a teenager.~~ _

He crossed out the page with a huff and grabbed another off the top of the, admittedly, fast-dwindling stack. Harry knew he ought to try, but there was a block in his head when it came to simply writing anything down. He couldn’t even talk to Hermione and Ron anymore. After their wedding, they moved to the countryside to get away from London and Harry understood. He had even tried moving himself but was drawn inexplicably back to the chaos of the city. The noise of the city outside his windows was comforting, even if it did keep him awake most nights. Harry didn’t mind. Late at night was the best time to read.

_Dear sir,_

_I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. My best friend threatened to drag me to a singles night if I didn’t try to find somebody to talk to and that was months ago. Obviously I haven’t met anyone, so this is my last hope before I am dragged to the fifth circle to small-talk hell. If you never hear back from me, I’ve died from hearing one too many stories about so-and-so’s love of waterskiing._

_Should I ask about your hobbies? Seems a bit on the nose after complaining about the evils of small talk. I suppose I can give a little, if I’m asking. I played quidditch a lot as a kid. Loved it. Do you play? I’ve not had the chance recently. Too busy with work... I think I’ve overstayed my welcome with this letter. Maybe you have more of a grasp on this sort of thing than I do._

_HP_

The pamphlet had instructed Harry to write a letter introducing himself to any potential connections he may find but hadn’t said much more than that. Hermione had recommended he try this out, given his string of bad luck, and he hadn’t tried to do any more research into this whole ‘pen-pal’ thing. He looked over his letter, grimaced, and rolled the embarrassment of a correspondence into a tightly until it fit into the parcel the pamphlet had arrived in.

As soon as the lid was popped on, the package disappeared. Harry sighed again and thought, “At least now Hermione will stop badgering me.” This was a long shot and if he was being honest with himself, he would miss the day when his friend stopped calling just to see if he’d met anyone new yet.

His alarm rang out into the early morning and Harry let out a groan. “Too fucking early,” he muttered and stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee and a bite of toast before throwing on a presentable outfit and rushing out the door. He loved the bookstore, but really, why did he have to open it at 9AM when hardly anyone even showed up. This is his own fault, he knows, because he sets the stores hours, so he has no-one to blame but himself. Still, it’s nice to grumble every so often.

The bell gives a jaunty tinkle when Harry steps inside. He waves his wand and the dusters fly to the shelves, sprucing up the books and assorted knickknacks for the day. It’s a small bookstore, with a well-loved reading nook that Harry does Saturday Kid’s Time and Harry loves it. He poured his heart and soul into this shop after the war, when everyone expected him to join the Aurors. Harry couldn’t stomach the thought of witnessing even more violence, even if it was for a good cause. Instead, he started working for Belinda at The Escapist and found, for the first time, peace. She gave the shop to him when she retired to travel the world and ever since then he’s worked tirelessly to keep it running and bring new wizarding families joy through the fairytales that he’d discovered.

Harry flipped the sign on the door to Open and slowly started arranging the days featured books on the display table near the entrance. He refused to worry about the letter he’d written late last evening. Even thinking of what he’d written brought a rush of shame and embarrassment and he was ready to shove the memories away where they could never be found.


End file.
